How Not to Seem Mysterious
by writerchickgirl
Summary: Deeks doesn't like to talk about his past. It has never been a pleasant topic for him. Instead, he does his best to seem as straightforward of a guy as possible. But with Hetty only serving to add to his team's curiosity and the calls of his conscience, secrets are bound to come out. Now a two-shot!
1. Chapter 1

"Alright Deeks, you're up." Sam smirked at the cop.

The team was sitting in the bullpen. It had been a lazy day so far; no cases had sprung up and, with nothing better to do, they had started up a game of Truth or Dare, only with no Dare and most of "Truths" weren't true at all. But they were bored and no one could say the "Truths" weren't interesting, so they were playing and laughing and not believing a word anyone said.

"Ask away, my friend," Deeks said glibly.

"When was…" Sam trailed off, thinking, "… the first time you shot a gun?"

Deeks pretended to think for a moment, and then said, "I believe I was 19. Police Academy."

"Well, that's boring," Callen said bluntly.

"Waitwaitwaitwaitwait—" Kensi cut in. "Didn't you—didn't you say you shot that guy when you were 11? Oh, come on, what was his name? George? Jordan? Gor—Gordon? That's it, Gordon J-something -or-other."

Damn. He'd forgotten that he'd told her and Nell about that when he'd been stuck in that stupid hospital bed, trying to figure out which of the many people who most likely wanted him dead was actually attempting to kill him. "Oh, yeah. Your turn, Kensi."

"Hey, I wanna hear this story," Callen interjected, curious.

Deeks didn't want curiosity.

"There is no story, really. I don't even remember much of what happened that day, except I _think_ I peed my pants," Deeks covered smoothly with humor and a self-depreciating smile. Rule #1 to _not_ seeming mysterious: always try to be funny. Whether or not you succeed is irrelevant; no one associates humor with mystery. And mystery makes people curious, which makes them want to dig into your personal business. Which is why he avoided mystery as best he could.

"Nice Deeks. Real nice."

Success.

"What was his name though?" Kensi muttered, bothered by the "tip-of-my-tongue" feeling; she knew it, but she just couldn't remember. "Gordon Josh—Gordon Jack Ramble—"

"I believe the name you're looking for is Gordon John Brandel."

Hetty had appeared behind Kensi in that unnerving, ninja-esque way of hers. Deeks had to fight the urge to cover his face with his hands; despite her many and rather disturbing talents, Hetty was not very good at demystifying something. In fact, she seemed to be constantly mystifying herself, to keep her squad constantly guessing.

But Deeks didn't want guessing. He didn't want them to be curious about his past. He wanted for them to just automatically assume there was nothing to be curious about. Rules #2 and #3 to _not_ seeming mysterious: Talk a lot about everything, yourself included, and don't avoid any particular topic. Whether or not you're entirely truthful with them, people tend to assume that if you talk a lot, you have nothing to say. So that was how he tried to salvage this situation.

"Rather unpleasant fellow. Scared me near out of my little 11-year-old socks. Not someone that I'd really want to meet in some dark alley, or anywhere else much, for that matter."

"Where'd you get the gun?" Sam asked.

Deeks opened his mouth to respond with a fitting Deeks remark, but Hetty beat him to the punch.

"From the People's Republic of None of Your Damn Business."

Before anyone could respond, Eric whistled from the railing.

"Hey! The Case gods have presented us with a gift."

Deeks sent them a silent prayer of thanks.

.0O0.

"Petty Officer Mary Walsh. Killed in her home by a single gunshot to the chest. According to police reports, her daughter—" a picture of a small girl with light brown hair came up on screen "12 year old Jennifer Walsh— claims she killed her. In cold blood."

"But they don't think she did. They think she's covering up for someone else," Sam stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Yeah, but probably not like you're thinking. Police definitely think that Jennifer killed our Petty Officer, but," he paused for effect, "the evidence, while overwhelmingly showing Jennifer shot her mother, also suggests that it was in self-defense."

"She's protecting her mother," Callen realized.

"Yup, and LAPD says that there isn't enough evidence to support self-defense if she doesn't testify to it. They want us to try to convince her to plead not-guilty on the basis of self-defense."

"Is that really a job for us?" Kensi asked.

"Well it's not like you were doing anything else that was particularly productive," Hetty said, "and there's certainly no harm in you at least _attempting_ to get through to her. Give it a shot; you might be surprised what you find. We'll be sure to call you if anything at all more important comes up. She's being brought to the boatshed as we speak. Go!" She shooed them out the door.

.0O0.

"Alright Eric, what all do ya' got on this kid?" Callen asked into the speaker phone.

"Not much. She's got some pretty bad grades in school, nothing higher than a C. Her father, Corporal Tom Walsh, is supposed to come home on leave the day after tomorrow. It does appear, however, that this wasn't the first time Mary Walsh showed violence towards her kid. A number of broken bones throughout the years with questionable origins and a large amount of alcohol and methamphetamines throughout the house definitely indicate abuse." Eric's voice came over the speakers.

"Thanks, Eric." Sam met Callen's eyes. "You wanna take this one, G?"

Callen sighed. "I can try. But this is the kind of case where it'd be better if I had a more personal connection, sharing a similar experience, but I don't really. There's a big difference between birth parents and adopted parents. This isn't going to be easy."

"Might as well try. Nothing to lose," Kensi said with a slight shrug.

Deeks, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do in this situation. This whole case was hitting a little too close to home for him, and it was making him distinctly uncomfortable. But he could connect to this girl. He could help her to help herself. And that was more important, in the end, than his personal discomfort.

So while the three agents were discussing what to do, the liaison officer was calmly walking into the interrogation room, his heart pounding against his chest.

The NCIS agents looked up at the _click_ of the door swinging closed.

"What the hell is he doing?" Callen stared at him on the screen, confused more than anything.

Kensi looked at her partner with a sinking feeling, like she had missed something, something very important. An old conversation from the Arizona desert suddenly flashed into her mind, and she knew exactly what he was doing.

"He's connecting with her."

.0O0.

Deeks looked at the tiny girl sitting across from him. She had a dark purple bruise covering the entire left side of her face, and she was determinedly looking everywhere but his face.

"How'd you get that bruise, Jennifer?" he asked bluntly.

Jennifer Walsh flicked her wary eyes to him briefly, but then returned her gaze to the floor, mumbling something incoherent.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said I fell into a door frame."

Deeks gave her a smile. "Of course," he said reasonably.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Deeks continued.

"I'm going to go through three different situations. I want you to tell me if any of them sound familiar, okay? That's all.

"Situation A) Mom's drunk. She's drunk and stoned and irrationally angry. She hits you because she just needs to get all this anger out and you're there, the perfect outlet. Then she sobers up, sees the damage, and starts apologizing and crying and telling you she loves you and she doesn't mean it and it won't happen again. So you don't say anything. But then it does. Over and over. But you still don't tell anyone, because she's your mother and she loves you and it's not her fault. She doesn't mean to. It's just an accident."

Deeks paused for a moment, giving her a chance to respond. She continued to stare obstinately at the ground, so he went on.

"Situation B) Mom's angry. She's pissed, maybe she's drunk, maybe she's not, but she's pissed at you. You've messed up, misbehaved, gotten a bad grade. You've disappointed her. So she disciplines you. And it hurts and you're sorry and you tried, but she says that's not the point. She doesn't like this any more than you do, she tells you, you screwed up and you have to pay the consequences of your actions. So you say nothing, because, in the end, it's your fault. You're in the wrong."

Another, longer pause this time. Still no response.

"Situation C) She beats you up indiscriminately. She'll hit you whenever, wherever, and for whatever you do, it seems. You always strive to please her, but she won't be pleased. Nothing you do is right, but you can't figure out what's wrong with you. But there _has_ to be _something_ wrong with you, though, because she's your mom and she wouldn't just do it for no good reason. And you don't tell anyone, because you think that would be wrong and you're more than a little bit scared."

Deeks looked directly at Jennifer, waiting, praying for her to answer him so he wouldn't have to get any more personal. But she remained silent.

He wished he could turn off that damn camera now.

"When I was little, my dad was type C."

There it was; a small sharp intake of breath. Her eyes fixed on his face now, not moving. He had her attention.

"He was a drunk sonuvabitch, and he used to beat me and my mom pretty bad before one day he hit her with his whiskey bottle so hard she got permanent brain damage. Then he came at me, holding his shotgun, screaming something crazy at me. I was a scared 11 year old kid, and I thought he was going to kill me, and maybe he would've, but I grabbed the gun my friend gave me and I shot him in self-defense.

"He didn't die, but they pushed me to testify against him. At first, I reacted like you're reacting right now. Wouldn't say a damn thing about it. Scared, like I said, for the most part. But then it finally got through my head that he was wrong. He shot at me, and there was nothing that could justify that. And I would be safer and better off with him behind bars. It took me longer to accept that he was wrong to hit me, but if I hadn't put him away, I doubt that I ever would've.

"You need to give yourself that chance, Jennifer. I'm going to ask you again: do any of these situations sound familiar?"

She hesitated, and for a moment Deeks was scared she wouldn't answer, but then she said in a small voice, "A."

That was all, but it was enough. Deeks seized upon it; he knew from personal experience that once she started talking, it was best to keep at it until she told you everything she would.

"And where did you get that bruise again?"

Jennifer mumbled something.

"Jennifer, I can't help you if you won't tell me."

"Mom. Mom hit me with a frying pan." Immediately, Deeks saw guilt flare in her eyes. "But she didn't mean to! She was just mad and she wasn't right and…" Jennifer trailed off. "Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God."

"Calm down. Can you tell me what happened last night?"

"M-Mom got home late. She was drunk and mad at her CO again. Sh-she worked herself into a frenzy. I tr-tried to calm her down, but she wouldn't listen. And then she grabbed a knife and she started swinging it at me and I was so scared and I-I couldn't think except 'she's going to kill me' so I grabbed her gun off of the table and I shot her, point-blank in the chest. But then she wasn't moving and I realized that I'd killed her. I'd killed my own mother." Jennifer raised pain-stricken eyes to meet Deeks'. "What can you possibly say to make that okay?"

"It's not okay. And it will never be okay. It's not okay for any parent to put a kid in the position where they would _have_ to do that. There's nothing _okay_ about it, but that's something you'll have to come to terms with on your own.

"But that's not really what you were asking. You weren't asking if it was okay, because we both know it wasn't. No, you were asking, 'Did I do the wrong thing?' And no, Jennifer, you didn't. You did the only thing you could. She most likely would've killed you. You did what you had to do to survive. I know that doesn't make it any easier now, but hopefully, eventually, you'll be able to deal with this. But I can guarantee you," he added suddenly, "if you send yourself to jail, you won't be doing anyone any favors, least of all yourself."

"But Mom—"

"If she really loved you, she'd want what's best for _you_, Jennifer." He stood up to leave. "Think about it."

As he reached the door, Jennifer stopped him.

"Did... did your dad ever forgive you?"

It was a question that most people would've thought to be strange; he'd just said his dad was wrong, so why would his dad be the one doing the forgiving? But what she really wanted to know was whether her mother would've forgiven her.

"Honestly, I have no clue. He got out on parole after serving five years of a seven year sentence, but then he died in a car accident almost 13 years ago. I never saw him or spoke to him again after the trial."

Then he left the room.

As he reentered the observation room, he was greeted by a stunned and thoroughly awkward silence.

"She'll plead not-guilty."

Then, embarrassed and annoyed by their stares, he left and headed back to Ops.

.0O0.

Kensi Blye did not like surprises.

She was surprised when she had been told that her dad had been murdered.

That was a really bad surprise.

She was surprised when Jack came back from the war and was so completely different and _wrong._

Also a really bad surprise.

She was not entirely surprised about the details of her partner's childhood, a certain desert slip-up causing her to wonder about it, particularly when Ray came into the picture.

It was still just as bad.

The looks on Callen and Sam's faces suggested that they hadn't even had an inkling about this… this _issue._ Though _issue_ was a gross understatement. Mess of catastrophic proportions? Nah, too melodramatic, soap-opera-y. It was in the past, she supposed. It shouldn't be that big of a deal now, not big enough to be of "catastrophic proportions."

She knew that was at least partially a lie.

Kensi had watched enough TV, had enough tough cases, heard enough seminars to know that _issues_ like that don't just go away with age. She wondered how many demons Deeks was hiding, and she wondered how it was that they had all missed them for this long. She wondered how much Hetty knew, and why Deeks never saw fit to trust _her_ with this information, even though he had known so much more about her past.

Mostly, she wondered why none of them had ever bothered to even try to find this stuff out.

Sighing, Kensi stood up and started to head after her partner; to do what, exactly, she wasn't sure. But she needed to do _something_, otherwise she wasn't sure she could really handle this right now.

"Kensi—" Callen called out to her, stopping her at the door.

She turned back to them slowly, biting her lip.

"How much did you know? About—about this?"

"Almost nothing. I mean, I had my suspicions, but…"

"Yeah. I'll bet." Callen waved her off. "Go talk to him. We'll take care of things here."

About to point out that she had been about to do just that, she simply nodded and turned away. Callen probably just needed to be in charge right now; she couldn't blame him.

But right now, she needed to talk to Deeks.

.0O0.

She arrived back at Ops in record time.

Honestly, Kensi Blye had no idea what to expect from her partner. She didn't know what his reaction to this _issue_ would be, and it bothered her that she didn't know that much. Like how she had been completely surprised at some of his actions with Ray bothered her. She should know him better. Their lives depended on each other.

She should know him.

She saw him sitting at his desk, writing up a report, acting like nothing happened.

"Deeks."

"Kensi."

"We need to talk."

~Fin

**A/N: Meh, not too wild about the ending, but I was sucking at writing the actual conversation and just wanted to get this up. Just so it's clear, this is a oneshot. But please, let me know what you think. I luuuv me some feedback.^-^**

**~WCG**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Back by popular demand! Okay, confession time: I've had this in my head for a while, I just couldn't get it down. I kept getting major blockage. So I gave up and called it nothing more than a one-shot so I wouldn't feel quite so guilty. Then, just today, I found a message in my PM inbox from more than a month ago that had somehow never made its way to my e-mail and so I had never seen it. Lo and behold, it's a message from kath46 telling me that I should totally continue and write the next chapter. I was suddenly inspired to write the elusive second chapter! So everyone, give kath46 a big round of applause. This chapter is dedicated to her.**

**And I'm sorry if it's a little rough around the edges. As always, my work is unbeta'd and while I'd love a beta, is has to be someone who is a rather intense editor. So this is a very rough draft that I whipped up and hope isn't so full of holes that it sinks.**

**Oh, and rivendellelve, yes, the Case Gods thing is from one of the episodes, I believe, although I cannot rightly remember which.  
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"Where are we going, Deeks?" Kensi asked.

They had been silent up til then, strangely enough considering her declaration that they needed to talk. Deeks had looked at her, nodded and then led her out to his car, motioning for her to get it. She had complied, and had been left in suspense about where they were going or what he planned to show her.

"A daycare," he said.

"A daycare?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes." His answer was short and clipped, belying none of his intentions or emotions regarding the matter.

Kensi let it go. Her partner was in a strangely taciturn mood, and she had a feeling that it wouldn't be too easy to break him out of.

Still, the silence was stifling. Usually, he had the radio playing, music or talk in the background behind his incessant chatter. Now it was just awkward. She wished for even NPR to start playing.

Finally, he pulled into a parking lot. The sign read, "2nd Century Adult Day Healthcare" and Kensi was filled with a sense of awful understanding.

"Come on," he said shortly.

She followed without complaint. The building looked cheerful enough, but Kensi couldn't help but regard it with sadness. It was a terrible thing, she thought, just masked in brightness.

"Hello there, Marty," the receptionist greeted her partner warmly. "You're here early. And who's this?"

"Hey Martha. This is a friend of mine from work, Kensi. Kensi this is Martha." Addressing Martha, he continued, "We got let off early. Thought I'd bring her by when I came to say hi."

It was a clever enough lie, simple and believable, but she could see that Martha didn't believe it for a second. Still, the receptionist let it slide and instead ushered them into a hallway.

"You know how to get there," she called to Marty as they left.

"Seems like a nice lady," said Kensi, conversationally.

"Yeah," Deeks said. "I made sure of that before I brought her here. I wanted her in good hands."

Kensi didn't have to ask who "she" was. She was enough of an investigator to figure that out.

Deeks led her to a nice little room with a lot of seniors sitting around, playing bingo, watching TV, yelling at each other, doing puzzles, telling stories of younger days and younger grandchildren. "I will sometimes come by and see her when I have time. Usually, though, she's here all day and her nurse comes and takes her home at night. I wish I could do more for her, be there for her more, but..." he trailed off. "I guess I just can't handle it. I don't know what to do with her. I would never be able to look after her, not with my job. The thing is, even if I had I different job, I think I might do it the same way. I can't handle it." He sighed, looking down at his hands. "I'm pathetic."

Kensi said nothing. There was nothing to say. Nothing that could possibly make him feel better. She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder instead.

"Where is she?" she said at length when the silence had stretched on.

Deeks looked around for a moment before pointing to a woman watching cartoons on a small television. Kensi couldn't see too much resemblance at first, but then she saw the woman's eyes, the exact same crystal blue eyes.

Her partner seemed to follow her thoughts. "I look a lot more like my dad. Lucky me." He was, in fact, nearly a carbon copy of his dad, something he wasn't all that proud of.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He sighed again. "Do you want to meet her?"

"That's what we came for, isn't it?"

They shared a somewhat uneasy glance and started walking up to her. The nurses glance up and waved at Deeks as they passed. "You're quite the lady killer here, it would seem." Kensi smiled good-naturedly.

"Yeah, well, I would never date these women. They actually know my mother." The two of them laughed softly. His laugh was pained.

It felt like years, but they finally reached Deeks' mother. "Mom?" Deeks asked, his voice shaky.

The woman didn't respond.

He turned to Kensi apologetically. "She gets like this sometimes. It's like she isn't aware of anything. Sometimes she pretty clear on what's going on, who I am. Sometimes she thinks it's back about 20 or so years ago, and I'm my dad." His laugh is humorless and biting with pain. "I guess it makes sense. Still, it's always a bit freaky with she reacts to me like she expects me to hit her. I can never get used to that."

Kensi couldn't find that words to respond. Anything she said would been stale, trite. Something that one would expect on a Hallmark "I'm sorry for your loss" card. And Deeks deserved so much better. So much more than he'd gotten.

Instead, she turned to his mother. "Ms. Deeks?" Aside to her partner, she said, "Is that her name, or is it something else?"

Deeks nodded in affirmation, wondering where his partner was going with this. "Her name's Marissa Deeks."

"Marissa, my name is Kensi Blye. I work with your son. I know you can't exactly hear me right now, but there are some things you should know; he's someone to be proud of. He's done a lot of good, and I am lucky to know him. I wanted to thank you for that. Without you, he wouldn't be here. And since he's saved my life on several different occasions, you can know that I wouldn't be here either." She didn't look at Deeks, knowing that if she did, she'd falter, start stumbling over her words like a seventh grader on her first date. "I owe you my life. So do a lot of other people. You might never remember any part of this, but hopefully, it will stay there in your heart, somewhere."

She turned back to her partner, who was doing a very lifelike impression of a goldfish. "Come on, let's get out of here. We can go for a beer or something."

Wordlessly, he followed her out.

* * *

><p>They were in her apartment. Her phone had on it two messages, one from Callen and one from Hetty. They had both said pretty much the same thing: Come back when you're ready.<p>

"Are you okay?" It seemed the most pertinent question to ask, Kensi thought logically.

"Yeah." Kensi gave him a hard look. "Okay, I'm not perfect, but I will be."

"You bet your ass you will." Her tone brooked no argument.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am, Deeks."

"Yes, sir."

She couldn't help it; she laughed, and suddenly all of the built up tension spilled out into hilarity and they were crumpled up in mirth, nearly knocking over the six-pack of beer that they had yet to open.

The stress of the situation have finally dissipated, the partners simply stayed and chatted, enjoying each other's company and sipping on warm beers.

"Did you mean what you said?" Deeks asked sometime later, out of the blue and somewhat shyly.

"What I said when?"

"At 2nd Century. To my mother."

Kensi looked at the nearly empty beer in her hand. "Of course. Kensi Blye doesn't say things she doesn't mean."

"Kens, you lie all the time. It's your _job_."

"No, Tracy lies. Or Leah lies. Or whoever I am at that moment lies. But Kensi Marie Blye? She says what she means and she means what she says."

"An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent?" Deeks grinned at her.

"Something like that." She grinned right back.

Deeks took another sip of beer. "You know what's sad? I think that's the first time anyone's said they're proud of me, despite the roundabout way you did it. My dad never would've... and by the time I did anything to be proud of, my mom barely remembered her own name. It's kind of..." he scrambled for words, "surreal," he said lamely.

"Well, your dad was an ass." Kensi was blunt and firm. "It makes me think of an old saying I heard once: If they're shooting at you, you know you're doing something right. So if he isn't happy with you, you're probably doing something right. 'Sides," she added, "you've got plenty of people who are proud of you now. They'll just never say it to your face. They're too manly for that."

"If Callen or Sam heard you say that..."

"They wouldn't do anything."

"Maybe not to you," Deeks conceded. "But me? They'd kick my ass for not disagreeing with you."

"Probably."

They lapsed into a silence that was finally comfortable.

* * *

><p>The next morning, they came into work together. Sam and Callen made a few lewd comments and Deeks and Kensi deflected them with practiced ease and some banter of their own. No mention was made of the day before.<p>

Eric whistled from atop the stairs. "We've got another case. The Case Gods have definitely been busy."

Hetty watched her team approach and smiled. Mr. Deeks would be just fine.

**A/N: So, yeah. I'm a little nervous about this, cuz I put it together so quickly. writeordie is a pretty great site, by the way. It also helped me to finally finish this. Hopefully you all like it and think that this is a bit of a better ending than before.**

**With love,**

**32, formerly known as WCG**


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